Blaine Anderson, Teenage Crime Lord
by StarGleekLover
Summary: Blaine Anderson is a teenage criminal mastermind, intent on restoring his family fortune. But he doesn't anticipate toppling civilisations or taking on a cross-species war when he kidnaps Corporal Kurt Hummel, the first out gay elf in the LEPrecon Unit...
1. The Fairy's Bible

**Chapter 1-The Fairy's Bible**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Artemis Fowl or the characters from Glee. They belong to Eoin Colfer and Ryan Murphy respectively.**

**A/N: This is set in an Artemis Fowl AU! You don't have to have read the series to read this though I recommend it. Hope you like this. It will follow the general plot of **_**Artemis Fowl **_**for those who have read it****.**

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><p>One would have thought it weird that three teenagers were unaccompanied in the busy center of Ho Chi Minh City in the middle of summer. But of course, you could always overlook it when everyone was packed together and pushing past, trying to escape the heat. You could simple to overlook the fact that the shortest one who was in the middle had a rather pasty pallor to his naturally olive skin. Maybe it was cause from all the research he had been doing lately, or from one of his favourite past times, hacking into 'protected' accounts for fun when he was bored. He was flanked by two sixteen-year-old boys who seemed much more mature than their age suggested. The one on the left was of Asian heritage, called Wes. The one on the right was named David, of African American descent. They didn't seem very normal. Maybe it was the protective stances they assumed, or maybe it was the automatic tensing when someone came that tiny bit too close or perhaps it was even the odd protectiveness they were showing to their younger accomplice which over-exceeded a normal friend's concern. But no-one really noticed. And if they did, who would say anything?<p>

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><p>Blaine Anderson was a busy teenager. On any other normal day, he would have stayed at home in Westerville, safe and cool in the Anderson family mansion. But, on the other hand, this was not a normal day. Not by anyone's standards. Today was the day that he might take the first step towards discovering a new species. Not to forget the exploitation of it of course.<p>

"And you are sure that this informant is accurate David?" Blaine asked in a hushed whisper, facing towards the African American boy. "We don't want a wild goose chase on the account of another informant" The statement was a soft rebuke towards the Asian man standing opposite him. Wes flushed a pale red but David covered for him smoothly. "I am sure this will not turn out like the Singapore case. I'm certain this man is the real deal, sir" Blaine nodded curtly and 'hmm'ed under his breath. He was yet to be the judge of that.

Most passer-bys would have been surprised to hear an older teenager address a younger one by the esteemed title of 'sir'. Even amongst adults, it was quite rare for that term to be used anymore. But these three boys didn't have the ordinary relationship one might expect.

"Let's take our places then" Blaine ordered, striding over to the near curbside café. The official meeting place for their collaborator today. As soon as they were seated in the spartan but adequate café, a waiter scampered up to them, ratty apron around his waist, notepad in his hand and a ton of gel in his hair. "What would you like to have boys?"

Blaine merely raised an eyebrow. "Sit down already and spare me your worthless acting." The waiter was taken aback, running his hand through his curls, forgetting about the copious amounts of gel in it. He looked at his hand in disgust before wiping it hurriedly on his apron and turning to Blaine's 'friends' for use of a better word. "Excuse me, what would you like to have? I'm not sure what your friend here is talking abou-"

"Cut the crap. You're wearing designer loafers, a silk Marc Jacobs and 3 rings with opals, emeralds and platinum in them respectively. You have the air of an actor, though a very poor one I assure you. Your accent does not fool anyone and your nails are clean and manicured. I doubt you are one of the waiters here. You are our informant Jesse St James and you have tried using this feeble excuse for a disguise to scope out any weaponry we might be carrying."

The waiter's jaw fell before snapping shut with a click as he fell into the spare chair opposite Blaine's booth where Wes was sitting next to the youngest. David was sitting on the chair next to the disgruntled 'waiter', smirking in a 'you really can't fool any of us' way. "Fine, you're right. But I do object to the 'poor acting' I'll have you know I attended-"

"Please be quiet. Now, as I am a gentleman, it is customary to fill you in on our weaponry status. I am unarmed myself. But you see my two companions here. Or well rather my bodyguards. That's what they really are. Wes here," he gestured to the Asian boy to his left "has a SIG P210 in his shoulder holster, a switchblade in his right boot, three stun grenades in various pockets, a taser and…what else Wes?"

"The garrotte wire, sir"

"Oh yes, and the trusty garrotte wire in his watch. Otherwise known as razor floss. Now, David here has the same weapons in different places of course, only with a good old-fashioned cosh and a pistol concealed in several secret pockets. Oh, and don't forget the tranquilizer gun up his sleeve."

During this, Jesse had gone white and he lifted a pale trembling hand up to his face. No amount of (poor) acting could disguise the obvious fear he had of this mere teenager.

"Don't worry Mister St James. These weapons will not be used on you…unless you give us a reason to." Needless to say, this was not comforting at all. "No," Blaine continued with a scary measure of calm. "Wes and David could kill you with their bare hands with a couple hundred different techniques, individually or combined. Though, I'm quite sure they need only use one" He did not make a joke, he simply stated it as a fact. Why make a joke out of it when it was perfectly true?

Jesse paled once again. Fear of this mere teenager was rational after all. Here, a fourteen-year-old boy was talking with the authority and vocabulary of a crime boss. It made sense though. The Anderson's were quite famous or rather infamous in the Underworld of crime. Though, he had envisioned meeting with Blaine Anderson Senior rather than his adolescent boy. Though the term 'boy' hardly did any justice to this individual. Not to mention his 'bodyguards'. The other two boys looked menacing enough despite their age. They were obviously trained for this and looked as if they could both take him down in a heartbeat. Individually. Together, even sooner. Jesse was starting to think that the ludicrous amount of money he was getting paid might not be worth spending another minute in this bizarre company.

As if he had read his thoughts, Blaine had turned brisk and business like. "Down to our deal," said the curly haired boy, nodding to his Asian companion who silently placed a micro recorder on the table. "You answered our ad."

Jesse nodded, gulping and praying to whatever deity up there that his information was accurate. He didn't want to know what the consequences were otherwise. "Yes, Mr.…Master Anderson. What you're looking for…I'm pretty sure I know where it is."

"I'm sorry" Blaine apologised, not looking sorry one bit "'Pretty sure' won't cut it St James. I'm supposed to take your word for this? How do I know this is not an ambush? My family does have a lot of enemies." Blaine said civilly as Jesse shivered. This kid was crazy! How was he a dapper gentleman on one hand, but then a ruthless criminal the next?

To the side of Jesse, David patted his shoulder holster threateningly as Wes smirked coldly over the table. Jesse noticed the motions and couldn't get his words out fast enough "No, no! I mean…I have proof!" Jesses gabbled quickly, words tripping over themselves as they flew over his tongue. The worst thing possible was to upset this dangerous adolescent. He extracted a photo from his wallet with a startling speed and handed it over. "Here, take a look."

Blaine examined the photo, taking in the minute details. He willed his heart to remain calm. After a few months and a few dead ends (which were cleaned up by Wes and David) was this finally it? But he couldn't get his hopes up. After all, anything could be faked with a computer and flatbed scanner. The picture had showed a mottled hand extending from shadows. A mottled viridescent hand.

"Please explain"

"This woman. Well, she's a healer of sorts. She lives near Tu Do Street. She heals in exchange for alcohol, particularly really expensive ones. She's drunk most of the time."

Blaine bobbed his head slowly. Everything seemed to add up so far. The drinking. One of the concrete facts his research had unearthed. He stood up abruptly, smoothing his red polo down. "Very well then Mr. St James. You have proved yourself reliable so far. We'll see about that when we reach our destination. Please lead the way Jesse."

Jesse ran his hand through his wavy hair once more and took it out. It was again, drenched in gel. He blanched and wiped it on his apron repeatedly. "I'm only giving information. That was the deal. I don't want any curses on my head." Wes and David discreetly edged around him to stand behind him, gripping his arms tightly enough to bruise.

"I'm sorry St James" Blaine said condescending with a trace of a smirk upon his face, all politeness forgotten "but the time when you actually had a choice in matters is long past" he walked ahead purposefully, motioning for his bodyguards to follow him. Wes and David steered the protesting wanna-be actor in the wake of their master to a rented four-wheel drive whereupon they forced the curly haired adult into the jeep. Jesse silently cursed in his head as the jeep started its course. How could he have gotten himself into this situation? And how was he able to be manhandled so easily by those two…boys? He was losing his touch and he blamed it all on this criminal lifestyle. He should have thought better to mix magic and crime. That was it, if he got out of this goddam situation alive, he'd change his ways for good this time. No more answering shady adverts or dealing with sons of American kingpins. He'd move to New York and start a Broadway career. Maybe even get a new identity...

While Jesse was listened to his inner monologue, Blaine stared out of the windows observing the various going-on's around him. The small motorbikes (called mopeds), parted like fish in a shoal for the huge four-wheel drive. The crowds were packed and they seemed to trail on forever. Even the alleys were filled to the brim with vendors and hagglers trying to cheat and hassle tourists for their money. Cooks carelessly dropped fish heads and other assorted (slightly) edible chunks of goodness knows what into sizzling oil. Blaine shuddered as he noticed all of the tourists practically queuing for a bite of that fattening and disgusting excuse for food. He let out a slight chuckle and blinked in disbelief. He had cracked a joke. That was a miracle in itself.

The vehicle could only travel so far before the streets became too narrow to continue. Blaine turned to Jesse "It seems we have to proceed on foot." Jesse opened his mouth to protest. Walking would scuff his shoes, he was certain of it. "Don't even bother complaining St James. You either walk with your shoes on or Wes will take them off for you" Wes smiled lazily at Jesse, fingers wiggling by his sides. Jesse choked out a silent agreement and stepped gingerly onto the pavement, taking in his surroundings.

"Don't you bother running away. You could if you wanted too of course, but I thought I'd save you the trouble by telling you first. You run away and you expect a swift sharp pain between your shoulder blades courtesy of these two." He angled his head to indicate Wes and David. Jesse looked down into their eyes, seeing only brown and black. There was no mercy. He shuddered, wondering what the two had gone through to make them so hard.

"I won't run."

"I didn't really expect you to. Now where is she?" Blaine asked impatiently

Without a word, Jesse led them down an alley swarming with urchins and suspicious natives. A thousand eyes followed their path and one unfortunate pickpocket tried to take David's wallet. Suffice to say that that boy's hand would never be the same again.

The back lane narrowed down to a rutted track. Pipes and sewage fed directly onto the slippery, muddy surface of the path. Cripples and beggars sat on the sidelines yelling at them.

"Please kind sir! My leg was run over by a cart! How's a guy to make a living now?"

"Please spare some money for the homeless!"

"Sir! Would you be as caring as to donate some money for the fella with a crippling illness?"

It was uncalled for to say that these pathetic cries fell on deaf ears as the four males turned a corner to come face to face with a black triangle beneath a rusted iron fire escape that led from an abandoned building.

"Well, is this it?" Blaine demanded fiercely.

"Yes. Right under there. She never comes out though. Even to buy rice spirits, she just sends a runner. Can I please go now?"

Blaine didn't bother answering. Instead, he treaded gently across the potholes to the lee of the fire escape and peered down, squinting in time to perceive furtive movements in the shadows.

"Wes, toss me the goggles"

Wes extracted the night goggles from his belt and stretched out his arm to place the device in Blaine's outstretched hand. The focus motor buzzed loudly to adapt to the light conditions.

Blaine raised the goggles to his face and everything became a radioactive green. He took in a deep breath and turned them to face the shifting shadows. A mass was squatting on a raffia mat, squirming slightly in the almost non-existent light. Blaine grunted and fine-tuned the dial to focus. The tiny being was wrapped in a squalid shawl. Empty jugs were half buried in the ground, scattered randomly in the earth around her. A spindly forearm poked out from under the material. It seemed to be green. But then again, so did everything else.

"Madam," Blaine said, turning on his charm to full volume "I have a proposition for you"

The figure's head wobbled as it tried to determine the source of the voice. "Wine," she croaked, her voice seemed as if it hadn't been used for centuries. "Wine, English"

Blaine smiled, that was another thing checked off the credibility list. Seeing as she lived there with in darkness, that was the aversion to light checked off. Then the gift of tongues, of course Blaine hadn't been speaking English. Oh no, to test this hag's tenability, he had spoken Italian instead. Seeing as she still understood him, this could only mean one thing. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest in excitement but he forced his voice to remain the epitome of calm.

"Italian actually. Now about my proposition."

The healer shook her spindly figure cunningly, "No, wine first. Talk then"

"Wes?"

Wes reached into a deep pocket and drew out a bottle a liter of the finest wine he could find in America. Blaine took the bottle and held it tauntingly just beyond the shadows. He reached up a hand to remove the goggles and almost missed the clawed hand that had darted from the dark to snatch the bottle greedily. It was green. No doubt. This was the final puzzle piece slid into place. Blaine turned to Jesse, a triumphant grin adorning his handsome face. "Pay our friend, David. In full. I trust that this will stay between us Jesse?" Wes and David glowered at Jesse, there was no other way to interpret it other than 'You tell, we beat your ass and promise excruciating pain as we do it.'

"N-No! I won't tell. I p-promise"

"You'd better. We wouldn't want Wes and David to, ah…make you keep that permanently, would we?

David thrust a wad of cash into Jesse's hand and the curly haired adult ran full pelt down the alley. He had forgone his pride in his relief that he was actually alive. He didn't even bother to count the money which was quite unlike him. Even though, it was all there. All fifty thousand dollars. Not too shabby for an half hour's work.

Blaine turned back to the fire escape. "Now Miss, you have something I want."

The healer's tongue licked her chapped lips, lapping up the alcohol residue. "Yes American boy? You have sore head, bad tooth. I can fix all."

Blaine replaced the goggles on his face and strode up to her. He squatted down to her level and looked into her eyes. "I am perfectly healthy Miss, apart from a slight allergy to fools who waste my time but I doubt anyone can fix that. No, I want your Book."

The hag narrowed her eyes and froze. Bright, alert eyes peeked out from the shawl. "Book," she muttered raspingly, "I have no book. You want book, you go to library"

Blaine's mouth set in a thin line of determination. "You are no healer and we both know it. You are a fairy, sprite, p'shóg, ka-dulan. Whatever you want to call it. And I would like your Book."

For a stretched out silence, the hag said nothing, then she drew back the shawl from her face. The glow of the green goggles clearly outlined her features. The fairy's nose was long and hooked under two long slitted golden eyes. Her ears were pointed and the alcohol addiction of hers had melted her skin like putty.

"If you know about the Book, boy. You also know how much power I have in my body. Enough to crush you and your two stooges so you three die a painful, painful death." She smirked, however the expression was ghastly since her skin was just about hanging off her bones. Wes and David tensed in anger and both took wary stances. Blaine waved towards them lazily. "Don't worry you two." The two bodyguards stiffened and exchanged glances but stood at ease once again. Blaine faced back towards the fairy. "I think not. Look at you. You're practically dead. Alcohol really is terrible for you isn't it, dulled your senses. Reduced to healing warts, pathetic isn't it. I will give you a way of redeeming yourself, in exchange for the book."

"What would a _human_ want with our Book?"

"I don't think I can disclose that to you. However, I can disclose to you your options."

The sprite's ears quivered slightly. Options?

"One, you refuse to give us the Book and we go home, leaving you to rot here"

"Yes," the fairy said a tad too eagerly "I choose that"

"Ah, no." Blaine laughed tauntingly. "If we leave, you'll be dead in a day"

"A day?" the hag cackled, throwing her head back. "I'll outlive all of you _children_ by a few centuries before I die! Even fairies attached to the human world can survive the curse of time."

"Not with a liter of holy water in you, you won't" he smiled indulgently, tapping the empty wine bottle with proud satisfaction.

The fairy's eyes widened and she blanched then screamed, a despairing and horrible wail. "Holy water! You have as good as murdered me!"

"True, it should start burning any minute."

The hag glared at Blaine hatefully, tentatively prodding at her own stomach. "The second option?" she managed to choke out in her rage at being tricked.

"Glad to see that you're finally beginning to look at it my way. Well, second option is to hand over the Book for thirty minutes and I'll restore all of your original magic to you.

The sprite scowled at him "That is not possible. Don't try to kid me, boy."

Blaine raised a triangular eyebrow "I assure you I'm not kidding" he said with a faint chuckle "I have two vials with me. Number One, a ampoule filled with spring water from the fairy well sixty meters below the ring of Tara-perhaps the most magical place on this planet. This will cancel the effects of the holy water."

"The other?"

"Ah, Number Two is a complicated little thing. A little shot of man-made magic. A cultivated virus that feeds on alcohol, mixed with a little growth reagent. It will flush out any and all traces of alcohol in your body, remove the addiction and even reinforce your failing liver. It'll be messy," at this he flashed a charming grin "but it's going to be worth it. You'll be zipping around again like you were when you were a thousand years old"

The fairy licked her lips thoughtfully, it certainly seemed tempting… Then the cramps hit.

Blaine stepped back as he looked at the sprite writhing on the floor. "Do we have a deal?" he asked, cool and calm as if he was talking over a cup of coffee.

"H-how do I know that you will-argh" Painful spasms hit her abdomen again. "h-hold your s-side of the deal?"

"Do you really have a choice?"

"Arghh! You bastard! I take it! I take it!" The pain had started escalating.

"See, in order to prove that I'm fair. Well, as fair as I can get as least, Wes will administer the first vial. You give us the Book. We get our thirty minutes. Then you get it back and we restore your magic." Blaine looked down and smiled sweetly "Fair now?"

"Yes! Yes you son of a bitch!"

Blaine smile dropped and his face adopted a stone cold expression. Wes and David shared a glance between his back. Uh-oh, sore point. The raven-haired boy clicked his fingers at Wes and the aide quickly took out a syringe and pumped the shot straight into the sprite's arm. The effects were instantaneous.

"Strong magic"

"Yes, it is isn't it. Now, the book."

The fairy rummaged around in her shawl for what seemed like an eternity before dipping her hand into a hidden pocket and drawing out a small golden volume. Blaine held his breath. It took all his willpower to restrain himself from bouncing up and down like an excited puppy. This was it, the turning point of his life. He would forever go down in Anderson family history as the teenager who single handedly restored the Anderson fortune. The fairy extended her hand, fist closed around the book. "It will be of no use to you. Written in the old tongue"

Blaine didn't let on any sign that he had heard her. She slowly opened her knobby fist to expose the golden tome. The amber-eyed male slowly straightened his arm out and took the volume reverently as he examined it.

"Thirty minutes human."

This snapped Blaine back to the present and he handed the Book to David who opened it as Wes extracted a compact digital camera from his belt. Working together to photograph the wafer thin pages of the book, they managed to capture the entire book on the camera's miniscule microchip in under ten minutes.

"Take no risks" Blaine instructed hastily

Wes and David nodded in unison as Wes saved the hard drive in Blaine's computer in the Anderson Mansion while David simultaneously blue-toothed it to Blaine's phone and from there, emailed it to the Anderson Mansion in Westerville. Before the thirty minutes were up, all the contents of the book were sitting safely in four different locations. Blaine returned the miniature title to its original owner. "It was an honor to work with you" Blaine thanked her smoothly.

"Not so fast. The second shot?"

"Oh yes, I am a man of my word after all." He motioned to David this time, who crouched down and dispensed the second shot straight into the carotid artery. The sprite collapsed on the floor as the shot took its hold.

"Let's leave." Blaine shuddered. "I definitely do not want to be around when all that alcohol leaves her body."

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><p>The Hughes and Sullivan families had been serving the Anderson family for centuries. It had always been like this. Indeed, it was thought that the first record of this three-way arrangement was when Amon Hughes and Emani Sullivan had served as bodyguards, cooks and servants of Lord Chance Robinson for the first American rebellion.<p>

The Hughes' and Sullivan's were always trained together, that was tradition. The training included gourmet cooking, marksmanship, how to care for firearms and other weaponry, a specially customized blend of martial arts, emergency medication and information technology. Their training was as well rounded as it could get. Once their training was done, they were assigned two at a time to whichever present Anderson needed guards. If at the end of their training and there was no need for any manservants, they would be quickly snapped up by several royal personages. They were the best and everyone knew it.

Once a threesome was formed with an Anderson, Hugh and Sullivan, they would be coupled for life. It was a very demanding job, you had to always be alert and watching. Never a moments rest. Depending on your companions, it could be unpleasant as well. But the rewards were handsome if you lived to receive them. If not, your family earned an eight-figure settlement and a monthly pension.

The current Hugh and Sullivan had been guarding their master ever since they had gotten out of the academy at 14. They had both finished their training early and top of the class. Despite being only a few years older than Blaine at the time, they had stuck to the age-old formalities. Though, they were much more than that. Wes and David were the closest people Blaine to friends, albeit ones that were instructed to follow and fulfill your demands. After all, who wouldn't be even a little bit frightened of this intimidating teenager with the same attitude and authority as an adult?

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><p>On their return to America, Wes and David had been concerned and puzzled about one of Blaine's decisions but they held their tongues until they boarded the Anderson's private jet, set back for America. "Blaine?" David asked cautiously<p>

"Yes David?" Blaine asked, tilting his head towards the African American boy opposite him, looking up from the screen of his PowerBook where he was trying to get a headstart on the translation. David and Wes shared a look as if they were having a silent eye contact argument on who would ask Blaine the question they had been dying to spit out the whole car ride to the hotel, then the plane. Apparently, Wes had lost as he piped up curiously "Why didn't we leave the sprite to die and just keep the Book?"

"Ah, good question." Blaine abandoned his current project, sitting upright in his chair facing his chaperones. "You see, a corpse is evidence. Since we used my way, the People will have absolutely no reason to be suspicious."

"The sprite though." David remarked

"David, I really doubt that she will willingly confess that she showed her Book to a human. For precaution though, I mixed a slight dose of amnesiac into the second injection. When she wakes up in about eight hours, she won't remember a thing" All three of them slumped back in their chairs with satisfied smiles while Wes and David shared a surreptitious appreciative nod. Always two steps ahead, that's what Blaine aimed for and achieved every single time. He was forever predicting and accounting for any possible mistakes in his flawless plans. People always remarked that he was going to follow in his father's footsteps. They disagreed. Blaine wasn't just going to follow in his father's footsteps, he was going to trample and walk right ahead of them.

All concerns cleared and the pressing air lifted, Blaine returned to his project of translating the Book. Wes turned to his copy of _Guns and Ammo _and David picked up his phone, going through the latest wrestling competitions. It was a satisfied silence, one you didn't get a lot of when hanging around this unusual company.

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Leave a review or I will assume there is no interest in this and I have spent an entire day composing this for nothing. But now I really need to do something and in order to do that, I need to directly appeal to the Artemis Fowl readers. If you have any ideas for future casting especially in the later books, please either PM me or leave a review with your opinions. I'm stuck for Briar Cugeon so far, so help? Anyway-**

**Thanks to all of you who read this,**

**~Scarlett**


	2. The Translation

**Blaine Anderson, Teenage Crime Lord**

**Chapter 2- The Translation**

**All characters belong to Ryan Murphy and Glee**_**, **_**the plot of Artemis Fowl comes from the amazing writer, Eoin Colfer. Have fun reading this! And I also encourage you to pick up a copy of Artemis Fowl. Great series.**

**~Scarlett**

Blaine Anderson was a teenager. Not an average one mind you, but still a teenager of a mere 14 years. What would make him travel all the way to Ho Minh City _in summer_ just to blackmail an alcoholic sprite? The answer came down to one of mankind's greatest lusts, gold.

Blaine's search for the precious metal had begun when he was a mere 12 year old. He was, of course extraordinarily advanced for his age and had used his expertise to start trolling the Internet for an easy way to make profit. When he had stumbled across the more _recondite_ sites that contained beliefs of the supernatural: alien abductions, UFO sightings and mythical creatures, his curiosity was aroused. So, he had done a little more digging. That was where he had uncovered the existence of The People.

When he was travelling through stores of information on the Web, he had found references of The People's existence in every corner of the world. Each country had it's own term that they used but they were undoubtedly the same race of creatures. Several stories agreed on one point, that each one of these (to use the American term) fairies carried their Book with them. It was rumored to be their Bible, filled with all the secrets of their race: their commandments, history, strengths and most importantly, weaknesses. But of course there was one problem, there was always a problem. It was written in the 'old tongue', Gnommish, the fairy language. Whatever you wanted to call it. Either way, it wouldn't be of use to any human.

But Blaine believed otherwise. With today's technology, anything was possible right? That was why; he would be the first person to translate The Book. And with the translation, came the exploitation of an entirely new species.

_Know thine enemy _was Blaine's motto. It was simple and adaptable for most of his situations. Make sure you know everything about your opponent. _Everything_. So Blaine had simply done his research. The information was all out there; it just took the right person and the right set of…skills to unearth it. After a few months, he had compiled a mammoth database on The People. But it still wasn't enough. So, he put out an advertisement on the Internet.

**_American businessman will pay large sum of money (US dollars) to meet a fairy, sprite, leprechaun, pixie etc_**.

Obviously, this had attracted a lot of attention. Most of the responses were fraudulent or shady and some were just making fun. Ho Minh City had paid off though. Blaine made a mental note to give David a pay-rise as he reflected on his goals. He was perhaps the only one alive who could take total advantage over his latest acquisitions. He had all of the desperate hopeful belief that most teenagers retained, still wanting to believe in the magic of their childhood that was tempered by an adult determination to make profit from it. If there were anyone in history that was able to…relieve the fairies of some of their gold, it would be Blaine Anderson.

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><p>It was dawn when the private jet finally touched down on the front lawn of the Anderson Mansion. Blaine stepped out, anxious to bring up the file on his computer and get stuck into his work, but first he had to check on Mother.<p>

Imogene Anderson was bedridden. She had been since her husband's unfortunate disappearance. All the physicians Blaine had paid had all said it was nervous tension. There was nothing they could do, just make sure she had proper rest and sleeping pills. That had been almost a year ago.

Wes and David's 'sister', Santana, was sitting at the foot of the sweeping staircase. Santana had been a pickpocket in one of the places they had looked for evidence of the People. She was the best in the area at only 12 and her fellow urchins had urged her to steal from 'either one of them fancy boys'. Whom did she choose to target than Blaine Anderson. Wes and David hadn't taken very kindly to it though but Blaine had stopped Wes from breaking her hand off. The teenage genius had simply looked at her penetratingly and frowned as if he was in two minds about her. Santana had immediately gone on the defensive and bitched Blaine out. However, that just seemed to impress him even more. It was then that he asked if she had a family. She had replied with 'None that care about what happens to me'. Blaine had then extended an invitation for her to join them. Needless to say, in a week, she had won over Wes and David with her wit, sarcasm and street smarts. She also proved to be a fast learner and they had started teaching her all they knew. It was then that Blaine decided she made a great addition to their team and had forged adoption papers using his PowerBook, one evening, making Santana a legal member of the household.

Currently, the sassy Latina was staring at the wall with _that look_ on her face. That was the look she had gotten when she had tried out that new move Wes had taught her on a pizza boy that had tried to glance up her mini-dress a few days ago. He had heard that the boy was still nursing a broken leg. Apparently that flip had been a wrestling move. Unusual that Santana would even want to learn wrestling in the first place, but then again, she did live around them after all.

"Problem, Santana?"

Santana stood up leisurely "Apparently, it's my fault. I 'left a gap' in the curtains and Mother Dearest couldn't sleep."

Blaine frowned, he was used to Santana's attitude but the news about his mother concerned him. He started for the steps, going up the oak staircase one at a time, lost in his thoughts. His mother's condition was worrying, to be frank. She hadn't been near daylight for a long time now. But if Imogene Anderson managed to spring from her bed, alive and well, that would put an immediate stop to Blaine's activities. No more criminal activity for him and packed off to Dalton Academy. No, better if she stayed in her bed for the time being.

He arrived in front of the arched double doors, decorated with wooden panels that depicted the Anderson coat of arms. A dragon curled around a heap of gold. He knocked gently on the door "Mother, are you awake?" Something smashed against the other side of the door with a loud crash. It sounded expensive.

"Of course I'm awake! How can I be asleep with that blasted light shining in my eyes!"

Blaine opened the door carefully as he noted the tinkle of the remains of a glass vase lying on the floor. He'd get Santana to replace it later. An antique four-poster bed towered above everything else, throwing shadowy spires into the deepest corners of the room. A small sliver of light peeked out from the curtains, hardly illuminating an inch of the room. Imogene Anderson sat hunched on the bed, her dark skin barely showing in the gloom.

"Blainers, where have you been?"

Blaine exhaled, at least she remembered him this time. "A school trip, Mother. Ireland for some fresh air."

"Ah," Imogene said dreamily "Ireland, I do love that pure, untainted countryside. Maybe we should take a family trip when your father return."

Blaine felt his throat close up. Most uncharacteristic of him. "Yes, maybe when Father…returns."

"Blainey, be a darl and close those curtains for me, will you? The glare is simply blinding."

"Of course" Blaine made his way cautiously across the room, taking care to avoid the shards scattered across the floor where previous vases and ornaments had been shattered and groping in the darkness, where his eyes couldn't penetrate. He finally reached the red velvet blinds. How easy it would be to simply throw them aside and let the light come streaming in. But no, with a sigh then a twitch of his fingers, the small inch of illuminated carpet disappeared as well.

"Thank you very much, Blaine. By the way, we simply have to get rid of that awful maid. She is completely useless."

Blaine bit his tongue. Santana had been a loyal, hardworking (when she felt like it) member of the household for the last two years. Time to use Mother's state of absent-mindedness to his advantage. "You are right, as always Mother. I've been meaning to fire her for quite some time now. How about that nice girl we picked up from Spain, Santana? I think I've mentioned her before. She'd be perfect for the position."

Imogene frowned, brow concentrated "Santana, that does sound familiar. Well, no one could be worse than that silly girl we have currently employed. See to it, darl. When can she start?"

"Straightaway. I'll have David fetch her at once."

"You're a good boy aren't you, Blainers? Now, come and give Mommy a hug"

Blaine stepped into the fragile embrace of his mother's arms. She smelled perfumed, like the thick scent of roses and lilies but her arms were thin and cold. "Oh Blainey," she whispered brokenly "I hear things sometimes, do you know? There are itty-bitty creatures that swarm over me at night and crawl into my ears. They whisper to me, they say-" Blaine could stand it no longer "Mother, maybe we should open the curtains."

"No, no!" Imogene sobbed, releasing him from her grasp. "Because then I'd see them, and seeing is believing, right Blainers? Right?" Her voice was reaching the point of hysterical and it was killing the teenager to see her like that.

"Mother, please-"

"No! No!" Imogene was too far gone, she retreated to the far corner of the bed and threw the covers over her head, and Blaine could see her petite figure shaking violently under the fabric. "Send the new girl" her voice was muffled.

"Yes, Mother"

"Send her with cucumber slices and water as well."

"Yes, Mother"

Imogene poked her head out, hair rumpled and still shaking slightly. She glared at Blaine with such hostility that he suddenly felt scared. "And stop calling me Mother! I don't know who you are and only my little Blainers call me Mother. And he certainly isn't here right now!"

Blaine stiffened and held back a few tears that threatened to fall. "Of course, sorry Moth-sorry." At least she still remembered that she had a son.

"Now get out of my bedroom and I better not see your ugly mug around here again! Otherwise, I'll tell my husband, he's a very powerful person you know."

"Very well, Mrs. Anderson. You won't see me again."

"It better be or-" Imogene froze, her face full of panic. "Do you hear them?"

"No, I-"

"They're coming for me! They're everywhere!"She thrashed about, as if fighting off hidden assailants, then diving back under the covers shouting "Leave!" feverishly all the while. Blaine could still hear the echoes haunting him as he descended the staircase with a heavy heart. His mother's case had definitely not improved.

* * *

><p>The Book was proving to be exceedingly stubborn. Far more than the criminal genius had expected. It almost seemed to be like a living, breathing creature that was actively resisting him. No matter which program he had run it through, it had come up with the infuriating window <span>'Message cannot be translated'<span>

Blaine ground his teeth. He had hard-copied every page and tacked them up on his walls so that they surrounded him. It always helped to put things on paper though now all of the sheets seemed to be laughing at him in his misery. The language had seemed so familiar but at the same time, he had never seen anything like it. It was obviously a mixture of symbolic and character languages and the text wandered randomly around the page like a drunken sailor.

What his translating program needed, he thought, was a solid frame to build upon, a central point of reference. He took a sample of all the characters and compared them to several other languages, English, Chinese, Greek, Arabic, Cyrillic and even Ogham. Absolutely. Nothing. Zero. Zilch.

Moody and frustrated, Blaine had sent Santana away when she had thoughtfully offered him some sandwiches. Very uncharacteristic of her…oh right, she must want something. Her only response was, "Get a hold of yourself Mr. Criminal Mastermind." before flouncing off to god-knows-where. He growled in irritation and turned back to his work. Right, symbols. The pictogram that appears the most was a small male figure. Well, it could be female as well, he reasoned. His limited knowledge of the fairy anatomy didn't really allow him any clarification. Then it hit him. He opened up his PowerBook and went to his language translator. He then selected 'Egyptian'.

Finally, there was a breakthrough. The figure seemed to bear a resemblance to the Anubis god representation of Tutankhamen's inner chamber hieroglyphics. This matched up with the other findings he had uncovered. The first written stories were about fairies, suggesting that their existence came before the human race had begun. It would seem that the Egyptian's had simply taken the fairy script and adapted it for their own needs not unlike the Roman's who had adapted the Greek gods and legends for their own use.

There were definitely other references in the characters, but they were just dissimilar enough to slip through the computer's net. Very well then, when technology failed, manual work would have to do. Each Gnommish figure would be enlarged and printed out for comparison.

* * *

><p>After several minutes of scrutinizing, the dapper criminal was elated. Blaine felt his heart thumping erratically in his chest. Almost every fairy symbol had an Egyptian counterpart. Most were universal such as the sun or birds. But some were exclusively supernatural and had to be tailored to apply to the fairy race. One example was the Anubis figure, which wouldn't have fit as a dog god, but Blaine had altered it to mean the king of the fairies.<p>

By midnight, Blaine had fed his results into his translator. All he had to do now was to press 'Decode'. He held his breath as…a long string of meaningless gibberish was fed out. Blaine hummed, furrowing his brow in thought. An ordinary teenager would have thrown a fit; an adult would have slapped the keyboard and uttered a few choice words. But not Blaine. He was too stubborn for that. He would not allow this piece of text to get the better of him.

He rubbed his temple, the letters were right; it was just the ordering that was wrong. The curly-haired boy rubbed the grains of sleep from his eyes while shooting a death glare to the page that lay before him. A solid line bordered each segment; this could represent sentences or chapters. But one thing was certain, that this text was not supposed to be read in the typical left to right, top to bottom fashion.

So, Blaine experimented. He tried the Arabic way of right to left and the Chinese columns. Nothing worked. He shook his head, trying to clear it of any straggling thoughts that might be getting in his way. Then, he stood up abruptly and marched to his bedroom. He flung open the door and scanned the premises before spying his guitar.

* * *

><p>He had started playing it as a stress reliever around the time that Mother's madness had started taking hold. It seemed to help. No one knew that he played, he had sound proofed his room and paid his teacher a huge sum of money to shut his mouth. He cradled the instrument lovingly and picked at a few strings while shutting the door with his foot. He went over to his bed and rested against the headboard as he absentmindedly strummed at the strings to a tune that he had learned recently.<p>

_I am in misery_

_There ain't nobody who can comfort me_

_Oh yeah_

_Why won't you answer me, the silence is slowly killing me_

**_(A/N: How very appropriate for his situation)_**

Blaine didn't know how long he had been sitting on his bed, casually strumming and crooning along but at the end of his 'jam session' as he called it, he was ready to go back to work on The Book.

* * *

><p>He arrived back in his study with his head cleared and proceeded to pull all the surrounding papers around him. He seemed to be right where he started until he noticed something he didn't see before, there was a central section on each page. Every other pictogram revolved around this area. A central starting point then. But then, where to go to from there? Blaine scanned the page, amber eyes bright with excitement, on the trail of some other common factor. Then after several minutes, his eyes lit up. There! A small spearhead arrow in the corner of one section on each page. Could this be a direction? To read this way? So the theory was to start in the middle, then follow the arrow, reading in spirals.<p>

Technology wouldn't be able to handle it. Hands-on it was. With a craft knife and ruler, Blaine dissected the first page of The Book into strips and reassembled them into the traditional method of left to right in parallel rows. Then he re-scanned it and fed it through the modified translator.

_(http : / / artemisfowl . fangathering . com / pictures / bk1 _ ch2 _ pic1 . gif) Take out the spaces._

The computer hummed and whirred as Blaine watched over it, on tenterhooks. It stopped frequently to ask for clarification for a symbol. This situation happened less and less as the machine slowly learned and adapted to the new language. After what seemed like an age, the message flashed onto the screen 'File Converted' His fingers were trembling from exhaustion or excitement, but he couldn't discern the two anymore as he stretched out a trembling hand and clicked 'Print'. A simple page scrolled out from the hi-tech printer. This was it. It was in English now. Yes, a little fine-tuning was needed and the spelling and grammar wasn't perfect but it was legible and more importantly, understandable.

Blaine pumped his fist into the air as a grin grew upon his face. He would be the first human to ever lay eyes on the contents of The Book. All exhaustion forgotten, Blaine switched on his desk light and began to read.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Booke of the People.<strong>_

_**Being instructions to our magicks and life rules.**_

_Carry me always, carry me well._

_I am thy teacher of herb and spell._

_I am thy link to power arcane._

_Forget me and thy magick shall wane._

_Ten times ten commandments there be._

_They will answer every mystery._

_Cures, curses, alchemy._

_These secrets shall be thine, through me._

_But, Fairy, remember this above all._

_I am not for those in mud that crawl._

_And forever doomed shall be the one,_

_Who betrays my secrets one by one_.

* * *

><p>Blaine could hear the blood rushing through his ears and racingthrough his veins. He had them. They would soon be ants under his feet. Every secret of theirs for the last thousand years would be stripped bare for all mankind to marvel at. All thanks to Blaine Anderson, Teenage Crime Lord.<p>

Suddenly, all the adrenaline left him and he slumped into his swivel chair. There was still so much to be completed, 43 pages of information to start with. He lifted a finger to press the intercom. "Wes, David, come up here and drag Santana with you. There are some jigsaws I need you to assemble."

* * *

><p>Perhaps family history would be useful at this point of time. The Andersons were, indeed, legendary criminals. For generations they had skirted on the wrong side of the law, hoarding enough savings to head straight. Of course, it hadn't taken very long and once they had gone legitimate, they found it not to their liking and returned to a life of crime. This time, for fun. It was Blaine Anderson the First, our subject's father that had thrown the family fortune into jeopardy. With the recent breakup of communist Russia, Blaine Senior had decided to invest a huge chunk of the Anderson fortune into establishing shipping lines to the huge continent. New consumers, he had reasoned, would need new goods. But Blaine had suspected that it wasn't the only reason. A week before his father had announced his plan, he had just come out of the closet. That had put a lot of pressure on Father and he may have come up with the plan just to get away for a while.<p>

Nonetheless, the Russian Mafia did not like the idea of a Westerner muscling in on their territory and had decided to send a little message . This message consisted of a stolen Stinger missile launched at _The Anderson Gem_ on her way past Murmansk. Blaine Anderson Senior had been on board at the time along with Wes and David's uncles as well as 25, 000 cans of soda. It was a huge explosion of epic proportions.

The Anderson's were not left destitute though, quite far from it. But the billionaire status was no longer theirs. Blaine Anderson the Second had vowed to change this. He would restore the family fortune. And he would do it his way. After all, he was partly to blame. He could at least try to make up for it.

* * *

><p>Once The Book had been fully translated, Blaine could start planning. He knew the ultimate goal, the question was, how to achieve it? Gold was the objective. The acquisition of gold to be specific. It seemed as if the People were almost as fond of it as humans were. Each fairy had it's own cache, but if Blaine's plan worked out, not for much longer. There would be at least one fairy walking around with their pockets empty by the time he was finished. After a long solid eighteen hours of well-deserved sleep and a light breakfast, Blaine climbed the four flights of stairs to his study, the separate one he had inherited from his father before he had come out. It was a traditional enough room, dark oak and floor to ceiling shelving. Blaine just had to update it in his own way though, therefore the room was stocked with all the latest technology. A series of AppleMacs whirred in various corners of the room. One was running a global news program through a projector, throwing oversized current affairs onto the blank screen that was hung on the back wall.<p>

Wes and David were already there, firing up all the hard drives as they darted around the room to attend to the many computers.

"Shut all of them down except for The Book. I need quiet for this." Blaine said casually as he entered.

Wes and David shared a silent conversation, both of them startled by Blaine's request. The news program had been running for over a year. Blaine had been so sure that some news of his father's rescue would have come from there. But here he was, telling them to shut it down. Maybe it meant that he was finally letting go.

"All of them?" Wes ventured

Blaine gave one last glance to the back wall where the coloured images flickered on the screen, taunting him with news of what never came.

"Yes, all of them"

Wes and David nodded solemnly and walked over to the back wall, brushing against Blaine and giving him a friendly pat on the back each, lasting only for a second before they went back to the formalities they were so used to.

Blaine took a second to compose himself and then cracked his knuckles, a smug smirk spreading across his face. The fairies would never know what hit them.


	3. The Last Chance

**Blaine Anderson, Teenage Crime Lord**

**Chapter 3-The Last Chance**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Artemis Fowl or Glee, they are owned by Eoin Colfer and Ryan Murphy respectively. **

**I am overwhelmed by the amount of Favourites and Alerts to this story so I thank all of you from the bottom of my soul. I'm sorry I couldn't thank all of you individually but FF was goofing up. I hope that you all enjoy this chapter. It's the longest I've posted so far and there's more to come!**

**~Scarlett**

* * *

><p>Kurt Hummel was lying in his bed having a tantrum without actually uttering a word. The only clues to his mood were his (currently) gray eyes burning a hole in the ceiling. This wasn't really anything unusual. Leprechauns were not known for their geniality. But Kurt was in an exceptionally bad mood, even for a fairy. Technically, he was really an elf; fairy was just a general term that was used. He was a leprechaun too, but that was just his job.<p>

Perhaps a description would be better than a rambling speech about fairy genealogy. Kurt Hummel had pale, white skin, thick chestnut-brown hair and beautiful glasz eyes. His mouth was plump and cherubic, which was appropriate since he had gotten most of his features from his great grandfather on his mother's side, the original Cupid himself. His mother had been a European elf with a gentle patience and a slender, petite figure. Kurt had taken after her line and had inherited her slim frame with long fingers that were perfect for wrapping around a buzz baton. His ears were different from a human's and were slightly pointed. He was slightly below the 1.5-meter average but every centimeter counted when you didn't have a lot to spare.

One of the reasons of his current mood of stress was his Dad. He had been on his case since day one of his new job in recon, mainly since he was his commander. Burt was fiercely protective of his son and the fact that Kurt had been assigned to his command had made him slightly overprotective...actually, that was an understatement. He had tried numerous times to persuade Kurt to go back to traffic duty but when that hadn't worked, he had struck a deal. If Kurt kept up with his standards, he was allowed to keep his job. If he messed it up, it was Traffic for him. No, Kurt thought grimly, he wasn't going to fail. He loved his job and was going to guard it as closely as he could.

Though no one could make him admit it, another cause for his irritation was the Ritual. He had been meaning to complete it for several blue-moons now, but there had always been something in his way that prevented it, whether it was the 20% off everything sale in the new mall that had opened downtown or the fact that Finn and Rachel had split up yet again and he had to act as mediator. And if his Dad found out about his magic running low, he would be forced to do Traffic before he could say 'But I was busy'.

Kurt reluctantly rolled off his gray futon and staggered to the shower. There were definitely advantages living in the center of the earth, he mused. For one thing there was always hot water. Well, there was no natural light of course but it was a small price to pay for his valued privacy and besides, natural light would burn his skin. Underground. The last human free zone. There really wasn't any experience like coming home from chasing criminals all day then sinking into a bubbling slime pool to relax away all the tension. Utter. Bliss. Kurt went dreamy just thinking about it, then shook himself out of it and chided himself. "If you don't want Dad to fire you, hurry up and get dressed!"

The elf suited up quickly, zipping the stylish dark blue jumpsuit up to his neck area and strapped his helmet on tightly. On an afterthought, he added a pin of a warbler he had seen on the surface and 'borrowed'. What? It looked amazing with his uniform! The LEP uniforms were smarter and more stylish these days but there was always room for improvement. But it was still better than those 'top-o'-the-morning' costumes the force had to wear in the old days. Buckled shoes and knickerbockers! Honestly. Very unflattering and it was probably one of the reasons leprechauns were such ludicrous creatures in human folklore. Still, it was better that way. If the Mud People knew that the word 'leprechaun' actually originated from LEPrecon, an elite branch of the Lower Elements Police, they would probably take steps to stamp them out. No, it was mutually agreed that it was better to stay inconspicuous and let them have their legends and stereotypes.

With the silver moon rising already, there was no time to have a proper breakfast. Kurt grabbed the remains of a leftover nettle smoothie from the floor cooler and drank it as he was going through the tunnels. As usual, there was chaos in the main thoroughfare. Airborne sprites jammed the avenue like pebbles forced into a bottle. The gnomes weren't really helping, lumbering along with their huge fists swinging back and forth along with their ginormous rears blocking the two lanes. Swear toads were popping up in every single damp patch, cursing with the mouths of sailors. The particular crossbreed had begun as a joke but had multiplied into an epidemic. Someone had lost their magic over that one.

Kurt battled through the crowds to the police station. There was already a riot outside of 'Spud's Spud Emporium' LEP Corporal Mike was trying to sort it out. Kurt silently wished him good luck. It was a complete nightmare. At least he got to work above ground.

* * *

><p>The LEP doors were crowded with angry protesters as per usual since the goblindwarf war had flared up again and every morning. Most of the protesters were weepy yet outraged parents demanding the release of their 'innocent' offspring. Kurt snorted in voluntarily. Innocent, his ass. If there was an innocent goblin alive, Kurt Hummel had yet to meet him. They were already crowding up the cells, howling gang chants and hurling fireballs at the officers patrolling past as well as their fellow cellmates.

Kurt edged his way into the throng impatiently. "Coming through" he vocalized with annoyance "Police business"

They were on him like flies on a newly dead stink worm.

"My Grumpo is innocent!"

"Police brutality!"

"Officer! Could you take my baby his blanky! He just can't sleep without it!"

Kurt was finding it hard to resist the urge to shove that man's blanket back into his face then proceed to take off his warbler pin and stab every one of the rioters around him until they backed off. Once upon a long time ago, the uniform would earn you some degree of respect. Now, they just seemed to pinpoint him as a target. It was all 'Officer! Would you mind helping me launch a search for my missing jar of warts?' 'Pardon me Officer, but my cat's climbed onto the top of a stalactite!' and a few times even 'Excuse me young miss! Oh, I'm sorry. It's just that you really resemble a female-'

Kurt shuddered; he was all male thank you very much. Even if he liked other guys, didn't mean that he was any less of a man than they were. Anyhow, he had more troubles of his own. More than he knew as he was going to find out.

* * *

><p>In the station lobby, a kleptomaniac dwarf was picking the pockets of everyone who passed, including the officer he was handcuffed to. Kurt couldn't resist giving him a swipe on the ass with his buzz baton and giving him his trademark 'bitch please' glare that usually quelled most criminals into submission.<p>

"What are you doing, Puck?"

Puck started, dropping the swag from his sleeves. "Oh come on, Kurtie!" he whined, his face a see through mask of regret "I can't help myself, you know that! It's in my nature!"

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Don't call me 'Kurtie', Puckerman. Or I won't be able to help myself from throwing you in jail for a couple of centuries." He turned to the officer the criminal was attached to and smiled sarcastically. "Finn, you're supposed to actually pay attention to the criminal instead of letting him steal from you." His stepbrother scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, "Yeah man, but it's really boring standing here." Kurt rolled his eyes and left him to pick up his badge and wallet but not before calling over his shoulder "Better make sure you don't lose that wallet! I heard that Rachel actually wants you to pay for dinner this time."

Kurt snickered as he made his way down the halls, hoping to pass by his father's office before…

"KURT! GET IN HERE!"

The porcelain boy sighed. Here we go again.

Burt's face was made of stone. "Bud, what do you call this time?" he inquired sternly, tapping his monometer making the usually affectionate nickname sound like an barb. Kurt could feel his fair skin flushing as he held his father's gaze. He was barely half a minute late! There were at least a dozen officers on this shift who hadn't even reported in yet. But apparently, his Dad always wanted to single him out for persecution.

"The thoroughfare." He mumbled, still glaring defiantly into his father's eyes. "It was completely backed out"

Burt groaned silently. "Kurt, you know that Haven is usually backed up at that time. Get smart and get up earlier. I know you have to do your moisturizing routine and what not but don't let that make an impact on your work."

Kurt knew that it was true. Haven was normally backed up at that time and he should have known better. He was a city elf born and bred. Since the Mud Men had begun experimenting with mineral drilling, more and more fairies had been driven out of their shallow forts above ground into the depth and security of Haven City. The metropolis was overcrowded and under-serviced. And now there was a petition to allow automobiles into the crowded pedestrianized city center. As if the place wasn't smelly enough with all of those country gnomes wandering around aimlessly.

His Dad was right; he should get up a little earlier. But he couldn't help defending himself. "Everyone else doesn't," he winced slightly, that made him sound like a whiny brat.

Burt leaned forward, over his desk and surveyed his son. "I know what you're thinking, bud." He threw up his hands in exasperation. "Why am I so hard on you? Why do I want you to set the 'diamond standard'? Why don't I call out all those other lazy bones?" Kurt bristled a little at the implication but his face displayed agreement with the rest of the statements.

"I'll tell you why, Kurt," he said earnestly, looking into glasz eyes steadily.

He risked a brief nod.

"It's because you're my son."

Kurt kept a straight face but curled his fists by his sides. He knew it!

"But don't jump to conclusions." Burt continued, "It's because people are going to think I favor you and that's not fair. Not to you, not to me, and not to them. You matter to me, Kurt."

The elf blinked, his father had never expressed that level of concern for him in work before. It was usually just 'Stand up straight' or 'Fix your helmet', blah blah blah.

"This is why you have to be the best, bud. You have to be better than everyone else." The commander slumped in his chair "I don't know, Kurt. Ever since that Coval Aderinalen affair…"

This time, Kurt visibly winced. The Coval Aderinalen business was the lowest point of his career in Recon. A total disaster. One of his perps had skipped out to the surface and had tried to bargain with the humans for asylum. Commander Hummel had to stop time, call in the Retrieval squad and do four memory wipes. The police's time wasted. His entire fault.

Burt took out a folder. "I'm sorry, buddy. I'm putting you in Traffic and bringing Corporal Pierce in on the job. I just can't risk you."

Kurt gasped indignantly. "Corporal Pierce, you mean Brittany? She's my friend but-but she's a bimbo! A complete airhead! Why would you pick her over me?"

"Because!" Burt snapped, feeling sorry for his boy. "She's a lot more disposable than you are."

Kurt was in shock as Burt persisted with his argument gruffly. "I'm sorry but I've made up my mind, you had your chance, Kurt."

The commander in front of him turned back to his papers. The meeting was over. He had blown it. Kurt could only stand there, unblinking and refusing to take it in. The best job he had gotten and he'd blown it, tossed it in the trash. One mistake and his career had shattered into tiny glass fragments. It wasn't fair. Kurt felt one of his tempers coming on. Just like that time when his mother had died and left him and his father alone. Like that time when Rachel had gotten Finn, back when he still had a crush on the towering gnome. Kurt wrestled with his inner turmoil, and then spoke up. "C-Commander Hummel, sir. I feel like I deserve one more chance."

Burt didn't bother looking up, knowing if he did, that he would lose his resolve.

Kurt realized that he wasn't going to answer and pressed on. "Sir, I believe that I deserve another chance because-" he was interrupted by three beeps emitting from one of the many phones sprawling lazily over his desk. Then another phone followed, and another replaced the former until the entire office was filled with the beeps of the devices. A high-resolution video screen crackled to life on the wall opposite Commander Hummel's desk. Burt jabbed a button on his desk, setting all calls to 'conference' and put the phone on speaker.

"Yes?"

"We've got a runner on our hands"

Burt nodded, all business now. "Anything on Scopes"

Scopes was the shop name for the shrouded trackers attached to the American Communications Satellites.

"Yes," said caller two briskly. "Big blip in Europe. Southern Italy. No shield though."

Burt swore under his breath. An unshielded fairy would be able to be seen by human eyes, risking the exposure of their race. "Is it humanoid"

"No such luck, a troll."

Commander Hummel put his head in his hands. Who had he angered to cause himself such a shitty day? First his son, and now this troll. Trolls were the worst of the bunch. They wandered the underground labyrinths looking for anyone to terrify or/and kill. Their compact brains had no room to store any rules or restraints. Occasionally, they wandered into the shafts of some of the pressure elevators. 98.2% of the time, they were fried by the concentrated air current. 1.8% of them got blasted to the surface, driven absolutely crazy by the light and pain; they would go on a rampage, killing everything in their path.

Burt moaned, thumping his head against the makeshift cradle he had formed out of his left arm.

"Sir, if I take this, will it count as my second chance?"

The Commander's head flew up, he had forgotten about his son in his frustration. "Kurt-"

"Come on, Sir! I can do it. A-And if I fail, I'll…do Traffic with no arguments. Come on, highest flying record remember."

"That doesn't have anything to do with-"

"-the field? But I've proven I can take care of myself remember? One last chance, it's all I'm asking for."

Burt didn't like the idea of putting his boy in danger and was fully prepared to tell him to go away until he saw Kurt's expression. Pleading and earnest. He knew he was going to hate himself later but he couldn't say no. "I take it you're running hot?"

"Yes sir" Kurt lied, knowing that if he had told the truth, he would lose his only opportunity and probably get suspended from the force while at it.

"Your last chance. If you stuff this up, you're back on Traffic. No arguments. Make sure you sign yourself a sidearm and proceed to the target."

Kurt glanced at the view screen behind the fake wood desk, burning the image of the target area into his brain. He couldn't afford to make any mistakes. The shots showed a small, fortified Italian town, and a big red dot was blinking rapidly and making its way through the countryside towards the human population.

"Do a thorough reconnaissance and report. Do not, Kurt I'm stressing this. _Do not _attempt a retrieval. Is that understood."

"Yes, Commander"

"Kurt, we lost 6 men to a troll last quarter. Six men. That was below ground, in familiar territory."

"I understand, Commander"

Burt scrutinized his son "Do you really understand, Kurt? Do you really?"

"I'm sure of it, Commander"

"Have you seen, what a troll can do to flesh and bone?"

"Not up close, Commander"

"I'm glad. Let's not make it your first."

"Understood, Commander"

Burt narrowed his eyes "Kurt…" he started with a warning note in his voice, "Whenever you start using my proper title and start _agreeing_ with me. Things go wrong."

Commander Hummel was right. Things would go wrong. If he had known how this straightforward Recon mission would have gone wrong, he would have insisted that Kurt be sent to traffic right away and retire there and then. That day, history was going to be made. And it wasn't the discovery-of-penicillin or first-man-on-the-moon happy kind of history. It was the Spanish-Inquisition, here-comes-another-World-War bad kind of history. Bad for the humans, bad for the fairies. Bad for everyone.

* * *

><p>Kurt proceeded directly to the chutes. His normally scathing mouth was a grim slash of stubbornness and determination. One chance. Make or break. He wouldn't let anyone break his concentration. There was the usual queue of holiday visa hopefuls stretching to the corner of Elevator Plaza, but Kurt bypassed it by waving his badge haphazardly at the line. But at the front, a defiant gnome refused to yield.<p>

"How come all of you LEP guys get to go topside? What so special about you guys?"

Kurt breathed in deeply, trying to regain his composure. Courtesy at all times…even when there's a stupid guy who won't take a hint all up in your face.

"Please let me by, sir. Police business. Now if you'd excuse me."

The gnome stuck a hand behind his back and scratched his rear. "I heard that all you LEP guys make up all that police nonsense so that you can stare at the moon."

Kurt's fake smile cracked a little. "Whoever told you that, is a complete idiot who probably has the worst fashion sense in the entire world…sir." His expression now resembled a sour grimace. "Recon business only allows us to travel above ground in case of an emergency."

The gnome in front of him frowned. It seemed as though he had made up the rumor himself and suspected that Kurt had just basically called him an idiot with extremely poor fashion sense. Well, the latter was true at least. By the time that he had processed Kurt's words, the porcelain elf had skipped right past him into the double doors.

* * *

><p>Mercedes was waiting for him in Ops. She was one of the two technicians that managed the department on a regular basis. The other technician was Artie but apparently he was on a date. Mercedes was one of the 3 only black elves in Haven City but it didn't deter the fact that she was his confidant and regular shopping partner. She glanced up sharply as Kurt strode into the room through the pneumatic double doors.<p>

"Anyone see you come in?" she asked suspiciously.

"Oh no," Kurt waved his hand idly "Just the FBI, CIA, NSA, DEA, MI6…oh, and don't forget the EIB" he added breezily.

"The EIB?"

"Everyone In the Building" he smirked.

"Don't give me any of your sass, Hummel." Mercedes quipped. "I thought you might have lost some of that since the Coval Aderinalen business. If I were you, I'd straighten up and work on impressing your Dad." She tapped his nose affectionately to take the sting out of her words and walked back over to her monitors.

"Wait," Kurt blurted out, stunned. "How did you know that?"

"Heard it through the LEP grapevine, the only way for something to be kept secret is if you soundproof your office." She tossed over her shoulder while analyzing her monitors. Kurt walked over to stand by her shoulder. "Alright then, I'll tell Dad that next time. Now, fill me in." He said as he straightened his posture, now all business with his game face on.

The female elf gestured to a plasma screen that was displaying a live feed from Eurosat. "This ugly red dot is the troll. He's moving towards this town of Martina Franca, it's a fortified town near the city of Brindisi. As far as our equipment can tell, he stumbled into vent E7. It was cooling after a surface shot, that's why he isn't troll tater tots right now."

Kurt wrinkled his nose "Gross, okay. What's next."

"We're lucky that big ol' fat and ugly ran into a couple of cows on the way. Occupied him for an hour or two and bought us some time." She spun around in her chair to register Kurt's face of shock.

"A couple of cows, Cedes? Just how big is this guy."

"Bull troll, you really lucked out. He's fully-grown and a 180 kilos. Tusks like a wild boar. Like, a _really_ wild boar."

Kurt made a small noise like a whimper, Recon seemed like a much better career path than Retrieval right now. "Right, what have you got for me?"

Mercedes walked over to one of the equipment tables and held up what looked like a rectangular wristwatch. "This is a locator, you find him and we'll find you." She gave him a quick wink as he strapped it on quickly.

"How about video?"

The other elf strapped a small cylinder into a groove on Kurt's helmet and tapped him on the head although he could hardly feel it. "There we go, it's a live video feed so we see whatever you see. It's got a nuclear battery so it won't die and the mike is voice activated."

"Right," Kurt said as he adjusted the helmet on his once perfectly coiffed hair "Dad said I should take a weapon on this one, just in case."

Mercedes grinned, "I'm way ahead of you white boy." She picked up a Neutrino 5000. "It's the latest model. Even the tunnel gangs haven't laid their vile hands on it yet. It's got 3 settings, scorched, cooked through and crisped to an inch of its life. Well, I may be adlibbing a bit, but it's somewhere along those lines. It's nuclear as well so blast all you like. This'll outlive you by a 1000 years."

Kurt strapped the lightweight weapon into his holster "I'm ready…I think."

Mercedes gave him a dimpled smile "No one's ever ready to face a troll, hun. Just be glad Artie isn't here today. He'd have got you begging to go back to Traffic."

"Thanks for the confidence."

"In place of Artie, I'll tell you this. Confidence is ignorance. If you're feeling cocky, there's something that you're missing."

"Cedes, that's nonsense just like his fashion choices. No one should wear sweater vests and bowties every day." Kurt gave her one more hug and traipsed out of the door but with a sneaking suspicion that Artie may have actually been right for the first time. And he hadn't even been there.

* * *

><p>The pressure elevators were powered by gaseous columns, which were vented from the Earth's core. The LEP tech lackeys had built it under strict guidelines and blueprints from the guidance of Mercedes and Artie. They had fashioned titanium eggs that could ride on the predicted currents. They each had their own independent motor, but for express rides to the surface there was nothing like the blast from a passing tidal flare.<p>

Apparently, the date had not gone well and a moody Artie had met him at the entrance of the chute bays. Kurt sauntered along Artie's wheelchair as they travelled down a long line of pods. The awkward silence stretched out between the pair as they silently wished that time would travel faster.

"So…what happened on the date"

"Kurt."

"Sorry, but it has to be pretty bad for you to be so down."

"Drop it."

"Okay."

The tension was cut as they approached the fragile pod that Kurt was supposed to be riding in. It looked a little too delicate to be rocking around on a magma flare. Its underside was a charcoal burnt black and it was pockmarked from shrapnel. The wheelchair bound elf rubbed the front fondly. "This was in service before I was born. Oldest model still in the chutes."

Kurt eyed it warily. The chutes made him nervous enough without riding in an antique. "So, when does it come off-line?" he asked, hoping to hear an emergency call saying right now.

Artie pushed his glasses up, "With funding the way it is right now, not until we have a death on our hands."

Kurt opened the door with a creak and a hiss, the rubber seal giving some resistance. He stuck his head inside and looked around. There was barely any room for a seat amidst the jumble of electronics. It was clear that the builder did not have comfort in mind.

"What's that?" Kurt pointed at a grayish stain on the headrest.

"Ah, well." Artie said shifting uncomfortably as Kurt glared pointedly at him, wishing he hadn't decided come back to work after all. "It's brain fluid…I think. We had a pressure leak on the last mission, you see. B-bust it's plugged now so nothing to worry about."

"What happened to the last officer?"

"Just down a few IQ points. But he's alive and he can actually take liquids." Artie said, attempting to sound casual.

"Well that's just fine and dandy, isn't it?" Kurt said sarcastically, gingerly picking his way through the mess of wires.

Artie leaned over in his wheelchair and checked the corporal's restraints. "All set now. Remember to keep in touch." He said as he leaned back into his chair, gesturing to the mike set on Kurt's helmet. With that, he pulled the door shut and rolled away from the pod.

Kurt shut his eyes tightly as he pictured the smooth greased sound of Artie's wheels drawing further and further away. Don't think about it, he told himself. Don't think about the white-hot magma about to engulf the flimsy pod you're in where all that separates you is a steel wall that may or may not give in. Don't think about hurling towards the surface with a MACH 2 force trying to turn you inside out. And don't even think about that huge troll just waiting to bore you in half with those humongous tusks if you do reach the surface. Nope, clear your mind… too late.

Mercedes' voice sounded in his earpiece. "Hey white boy, you'll do fine." In the background, he could hear Artie's comments of 'As fine as you can be against a Bull Troll.' And then Mercedes threatening to cut him before she returned to the line. "Alright, T-minus twenty. We're on a secure channel in case of the Mud People starting underground monitoring. I mean, you'd never know. When that oil tanker interrupted one of our transmissions, oh my god, what a disaster."

Kurt adjusted his helmet briefly. "Cedes, I don't believe in God and my life is currently in your hands. Please try and focus or just switch to Artie."

"Sorry, white boy. Now, we're gonna use the rails to drop you into E7's main shaft. It'll carry you for at least 500 klicks and then you're on your own."

"Okay, all systems checked and I'm fired up and ready to go."

"Here we go."

There was a whoosh as the pod's engines ignited. The tiny craft jostled in its housing, shaking Kurt like a bead in a (stylish) rattle. He could barely hear Mercedes talking over the earpiece.

"You're in the secondary shaft now. Get ready to take off, Corporal."

Kurt picked up a cylindrical rubber piece from the crowded dashboard, hands trembling from the vibrations and placed it firmly between his teeth. There was no point to the radio if you didn't have a tongue to communicate with. He activated the external cameras and set the view to the screen above his head.

The entrance to E7 was creeping up on him. The air looked as if it was bending and undulating in the air as the heat made it shimmer. White-hot sparks began to tumble forwards. Kurt couldn't hear the noise, but he imagined that it was a raw skinning wind that was like a million enraged trolls howling.

His finger tightened around the joysticks involuntarily. The pod was right on the lip of the chute now. Above and below, it stretched out like a black hole. Massive. Boundless. No end. Like dropping an ant down a drainpipe.

"Right." Artie's voice came over the helmet. It seemed as if he had wrestled the mike from Mercedes. "Hold on to your breakfast, it's going to be a bumpy ride."

Kurt nodded stiffly. He couldn't speak with the rubber in his mouth. They would be able to see him in the podcam anyway.

"Sayonara, Kurtie." Artie crowed and pressed the button.

The pods clamps rolled the tiny vessel into the abyss. His stomach tightened as the G-force took hold, dragging him into the center of the Earth. The seismology department had millions of probes down here with a 98% chance of accuracy. There was always that nagging point two percent…

The fall seemed to stretch for eons. And when Kurt had mentally consigned himself to be part of that nagging point two percent, he felt it. That unforgettable vibration. Now his main concern was if the pod could withstand the intense tremors. What a fate! He had escaped the fate of the junk heap at the bottom of the shaft only to be shaken apart in a piece of old metal in the shaft. "Fins," he spit out around the rubber. He wasn't sure if his technicians had heard him or not but his stabilization fins slid out anyway.

Then the flare actually hit and it was nothing like his expectations. It was worse. Outside of his little sphere, the world was being shaken within an inch of its life. The pod went spinning until the fins finally caught. Half melted rocks pelted the fins of the pod, trying to crush it against the chute's walls. Kurt fought back with extra shots of power from the joysticks.

The heat was tremendous in the confined space, enough to fry an ordinary human. But fairy lungs were made of strong stuff. The acceleration dragged at him with invisible hands, stretching the flesh over his arms and face. Kurt blinked the salty sweat out of his eyes and focused on the job at hand. He scanned the monitor and caught a glimpse of the ginormous flare engulfing his pod. It was Force 7 at the very least with no less than a 500-meter girth around it. Orange striped magma licked at the sides of the craft, looking for a weak spot in the metal casing.

The pod moaned and complained, the fifty-year-old rivets threatening to pop. Kurt shook his head despairingly. He was going to kick Artie's ass when he got back. And Mercedes would gladly help him. That is, if he got home at all.

A bow plate buckled, like someone had just pummeled it a thousand times over. The overhead pressure light blinked red ad Kurt could feel his head being squeezed. The eyes would be the first to go-he thought dimly.

He checked the dials steadily, twenty more seconds before he rode out the flare and would be running on thermals. The twenty seconds seemed like an eternity. Kurt sealed his helmet to protect his eyes, riding out the final shower of half liquefied rocks.

And then he was clear, sailing up on the comparatively gentle spirals of hot air. Kurt relaxed for a minute and breathed out fixedly before remembering the stakes and tightened his fingers on the joysticks to add his thrusters to the overall upwards force. There was no time to waste floating around on the wind.

Above him, a series of neon lights marked the docking zone. Kurt swiveled horizontally and pointed the docking nodes at the lights. This was a delicate process. Many Recon officers had made it this far only to miss the port and lose valuable time. Not Kurt though. He was a natural. First in the academy.

He gave the thrusters one last squeeze and coasted the last 100 meters. Using the rudders beneath his feet, he teased the craft through the circle of brightness and into the clamp on the landing pad. The nodes revolved and settled into the grooves. Safe.

Kurt hit himself in the chest to unfasten the restraining belt and proceeded to scramble out of the metal pod with undisguised relief. He took in a huge breath of air and calmed down as the sweet surface air crowded his lungs. There was nothing like the relief of a first breath after a ride in the chutes. How had the People ever left the face of the Earth? Sometimes he wished that his ancestors had stayed to fight it out with the Mud People, but there was just too many of them. Unlike the humans, fairies could only reproduce once every 20 years. Numbers would subdue even magic.

Although he was enjoying the fresh air, Kurt could still taste pollutants on the tip of his tongue. The Mud People had managed to destroy everything they came in contact with. Well, they didn't live in mud anymore but the name had stuck. Now, they lived in big fancy dwellings with rooms for everything. Rooms for eating-rooms for sleeping-and even rooms to go to the toilet! Indoors! Kurt shuddered, imagine going to the toilet in your house. Disgusting! The only good thing about their toilets was that the minerals could be returned to Earth. Unfortunately, the humans managed to spoil that as well by treating it with bottles of blue chemicals. If anyone had told her a hundred years ago that humans would take the 'fertile' out of 'fertilizer', he would have laughed right in their faces and told them to get air holes drilled in their skull.

Kurt unhooked a pair of wings from their rusty bracket on the wall. They were double ovals with a clunky engine. He groaned silently, he hated the Dragonfly model. Petrol engines and heavier than his wardrobe. Now the Hummingbird Z300, that was transport. Whisper silent with a satellite bounced battery that would allow you to fly twice around the world. Stupid budget cuts.

On his wrist, the locater began to beep. He was in range. He ambled into the landing bay. He was in a camouflaged mound of Earth known as a fairy fort. Indeed, the People used to live in these before they were forced to migrate underground. There wasn't a lot of technology stored here save for the basics. External monitors and a self-destruct device in case it was found.

There was nothing on the screens except for the clear countryside. All clear. Kurt headed towards the slightly askew pneumatic doors where the troll had barged through earlier. Everything was in order except for a few walls that the troll had struck his fist into. Great, Artie was going to grumble about that for weeks. Kurt rolled his eyes and strapped on the wings before he stepped outside into the Italian landscape.


End file.
